


A Labor of Loaves

by dittomander



Category: Elena of Avalor (Cartoon)
Genre: Bad Puns, Baking, Christmas, F/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Secret Santa, eleteo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:00:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28329387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dittomander/pseuds/dittomander
Summary: Elena "I didn't even make it to one leche" Castillo Flores finds herself tasked with making some sweets for Navidad, and quickly ends up overwhelmed. Luckily, the equally confused Mateo "it can't be that different from making a potion" de Alva is around to try to help.
Relationships: Mateo de Alva/Elena Castillo Flores
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	A Labor of Loaves

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, Chrissy! I was your Secret Santa, so here's an eleteo fic for you. I hope it enhances your enjoyment of the season!

Elena chewed her lip and skimmed her eyes across the mess of flour, dough, and haphazardly organized recipe pages that had spread themselves across the counters. She knew she wasn’t the best baker—far from it, in fact—but she’d been hoping that as long as she kept a level head she’d at least be able to avoid any kitchen catastrophes. Now she was just hoping that there was still a kitchen left under there, somewhere.

What could she do to fix this, fast? The palace cook was otherwise occupied—he had an entire Navidad feast to prepare—and her abuela was resting with a headache, which had been the whole reason Elena had stepped in to help with food preparation in the first place. It had taken the efforts of Abuelo and half the palace staff to finally get Abuela to lie down and hand off the responsibility, stubborn as she could be, and Elena wasn’t about to disrupt her much-needed rest for something that she should have been able to handle herself. It should’ve been easy, she’d reasoned. Most of the more complicated dishes were already spoken for—there had been stacks of buñuelos ready that morning, at least before Isa had started pilfering them, and Abuela insisted that she’d be well enough to do her famous tamales later. Elena had figured she should be able to handle a batch or two of her personal favorites, but everything had fallen apart in almost record time. She was Queen of Avalor, for crying out loud! How could she run a kingdom and still struggle with whipping up a simple batch of pan dulce?

A gentle rapping against the doorframe startled Elena out of her spiraling thoughts and she spun toward the door, internally praying that her abuela wasn’t about to see this travesty.

“I can explain—” she started, but froze, almost relieved, as she saw that it was not her grandmother, but Mateo who stood in the doorway, staring at the mess and looking bewildered.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, letting his gaze wander across the countertops and over toward the oven. 

“It’s fine,” Elena lied. “I’ve got everything under control.” Sure, Mateo seeing this was a lot less embarrassing than if her abuela had seen it, but she could feel a mortified heat creeping up her neck all the same. “Did you need something?” she asked, half hoping he’d purge this scene from his memory as soon as he left. He’d be visiting his mother for the holiday, right?

“Oh, right,” he straightened up and looked back over at her, continuing, “I wanted to let you know that I was heading out, but...” His nose crinkled for a moment, and then, “Is… something burning?”

Elena let out an undignified yelp as the acrid smell of burnt bread reached her nose and she rushed over to the oven, yanked the door open and grabbed the tray of overdone sweets with a nearby cloth, tossing the sheet onto the counter.

“It’s a complete mess,” she finally admitted, slumping over the charred treats. “I’m on my third batch of pan dulce and it’s  _ still _ not turning out, and I don’t know what I’m doing wrong!” She turned back to Mateo, hands clasped in front of her. “Please tell me you know a baking spell,” she said.

Mateo chuckled and scratched at his neck. “Well, no, not off the top of my head. There might be something in one of my spellbooks, but I think we could probably just make another batch in the time it’d take to look one up.”

Elena blinked. “We? Won’t your mother be expecting you soon?”

“Not for a few more hours, actually. I finished everything I was working on a little earlier than I expected, so…” He smiled warmly. “I can stay as long as you need.”

Relief flooded through Elena. Count on Mateo to be there when she needed him. “Is this where you tell me you’re a Master Baker as well as a Master Wizard?” she joked, watching him roll his sleeves up and head to the sink to wash his hands.

“I figure it can’t be  _ that _ different from making a potion, right?” he said. “Do you have a recipe?”

“Yes!” Elena replied, nodding emphatically and gathering up the stray pages.

Mateo considered her carefully, rubbing a towel over his hands. “Are you… uh, I hate to ask, but,” his smile turned uneasy, “are you  _ following _ the recipe?”

“I’ve been  _ trying _ to,” she huffed, “but it’s not as simple as that! I  _ thought _ that as long as I just stuck to the recipe, everything would be fine, but even on step one, there’s—here, just look at this!”

She thrust the papers toward Mateo and continued, feeling her anxiety burning away into agitation as he flipped through them.

“Just gathering the ingredients has been a mess! It says it needs flour, but there are—and I wish I was joking when I say this— _ ten _ open bags of different types of flour in this kitchen, and I have no idea which one of them I’m actually supposed to be using. And then it has all the measurements listed by weight  _ and _ by volume, and I don’t know if I’m supposed to be doing both or just one—do I add them? Do I alternate?” She threw her hands up. “I don’t know! I’ve just been guessing!”

Across from her, Mateo’s face had taken on an expression that she recognized easily as the same daunted one she was sure she’d worn when she’d first realized what she’d signed herself up for. He was silently mouthing the steps of the recipe as he read over them, occasionally muttering a phrase aloud and furrowing his brow in further confusion.

“Proof the yeast?” he asked, looking up at her.

“I was really hoping you would know what that meant,” Elena replied.

Mateo took a quick breath. “Okay, so it’s a little different from making a potion. But, the principle should be the same. As long as we’re careful with our measurements and stay patient, it should turn out just fine.”

Elena grimaced. “Ooh, I’m not too good at that last one.”

“And that’s why we’re both here,” Mateo said, grinning.

* * *

Elena stared down at the mixture of milk and yeast that sat on the counter in front of them, watching the tiny bubbles burst on the surface.

“Hey, Mateo?”

“Hmm?”

“Is it… supposed to be doing that?”

Mateo tilted his head, like a different angle would make it make more sense. “My wizard instincts say yes,” he said, “bubbling is normally a good thing.”

“But this is supposed to be for bread,” Elena pointed out, “not a spell.”

“Maybe bread is supposed to bubble? Maybe it’ll—” he snickered, “maybe it’ll be important when we  _ yeast _ expect it.”

Elena snorted. “Oh, you,” she said, and bumped her shoulder against his, her goofy grin matching his own.

* * *

“I can’t believe it,” Elena muttered. “We’re watching dough rise. We’re literally just sitting here watching a ball of dough.”

“I did say a lot of this would probably just involve being patient,” Mateo gently reminded her.

“We might as well be watching paint dry. Grass grow.” Groaning, she leaned back against one of the counters with a pout. “How are you not bored to tears right now?”

Mateo shrugged. “A lot of my work involves watching water boil, so I guess I’ve just had experience with waiting. Although, I will admit,” he went on, smiling, “the company is much better than usual.”

He looked so sincere, and a flustered, surprised laugh escaped Elena before she could stop it. She just hoped she’d turned her face away fast enough to hide her heated cheeks.

* * *

Waiting for bread to bake was only slightly more engaging than watching dough rise. Elena peered at the front of the oven, wishing she had her scepter with her so she could just look through it. At least nothing was burning yet. 

And if nothing was burning, then maybe she could just…

“Elena,” Mateo cautioned beside her, and she reluctantly drew her arm away from the stack of wood beside the oven.

They only had to be in there for twenty minutes, but considering all of Elena’s false starts, that was still as much as two hours later than when she should have had them done. And on top of that… Her eyes strayed over to Mateo, who had patiently stayed with her the entire time. She had been so grateful for his help and company—and still was—and it wasn’t that she wanted him to leave, but she hadn’t meant to keep him for so long, especially when she knew it was cutting into time he could’ve been spending with his family. The pan dulce had to finish quickly, not just for her sake, but so that Mateo could actually go and enjoy the holiday.

She reached for the wood pile again. This time, Mateo’s hand came to stop her, gently taking her own and guiding it back down to her side.

“It’s just a few more minutes,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze before letting go, and Elena found herself missing the contact more than she’d expected.

* * *

The pan dulce looked good, and more importantly, they smelled good, which hopefully meant that they’d taste good, too.

“Moment of truth,” Elena announced, tearing one of the breads in two and handing a piece to Mateo.

He accepted it, but paused to stare at it, looking dubious. “Now would be an awful time to realize we used salt instead of sugar or something like that.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Elena quickly replied, and then took a bite before she could second guess herself.

They had not forgotten to use sugar. In fact, it seemed like they hadn’t forgotten anything. The pan dulce tasted like heaven, sweet and soft and exactly like she could remember it tasting whenever her abuela or mami had made it. A Navidad miracle. She could cry, honestly.

“It’s perfect,” she blurted through a mouthful of bread.

Mateo enthusiastically nodded, nearly inhaling the rest of his piece and looking longingly at the rest of the pan dulce.

“I can’t believe it turned out so well,” Elena said, beaming. “And you! Thank you so much for helping!”

“Ah, well,” Mateo ducked his head. “It was mostly you. I was just the entertainment. And the timer, I guess.”

“No, really,” Elena insisted, “you have no idea how much even that meant.” And before she could really think about what she was doing, still riding the giddiness of their success, she’d pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thank you,” she repeated, and turned back to the remaining pan dulce to start sorting it out onto serving plates.

He still looked stunned when she faced him again, one hand raised to his face, with his fingertips grazing against the spot she’d kissed.

“You should take some for the road,” she said, holding out a dish with the leftover pan dulce that hadn’t quite fit onto the serving plate.

Her words seemed to shake Mateo out of his stupor, at least somewhat. “I, uh, right! Yes, I’ll do that,” he stammered, a grin spreading across his face, and their fingers brushed together when he reached out to accept the sweets.

They stood there for a moment, enjoying the comfortable quiet, and then Mateo took a breath. “I guess I should get going, then. But, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Elena chuckled. “You do still live here, so I hope so!”

“Right! Of course,” Mateo laughed. “Then, until then. Feliz Navidad, Elena.”

“Feliz Navidad, Mateo.”


End file.
